Snark & Paranoia
by brightspark
Summary: A short arc of five fics for the themes attraction, romance, passion, intimacy and commitment. FenwayxCaffrey.
1. Someone To Talk To

He might have disagreed with her, but Nigel Fenway couldn't deny that Molly Caffrey was _the_ person to lead Threshold, whether her plans were short sighted, maybe even morally wrong, or not. She had designed the protocols and she would, he was sure, carry them out perfectly.

He was flattered by her trust in him, though it took time for that fact to sink in, and after that he watched her more carefully. He still didn't _agree_ with keeping it from the public, but now he thought he had a better understanding of why she'd done it. It'd hit him at the most unusual time, of course. He had watched her talking to Cavennaugh, laughing (he didn't know how, how could anyone be anything but bitter and ironic with _this_ always hanging over them?), and seen her sharp eyes, her pointed look that got to somewhere right deep down inside you.

Caffrey was _the one_. Whether it was the _one_ for Threshold, or the one for him personally, he wasn't quite sure. He'd had enough of marriage, relationships -- he'd thought. But sometimes (just sometimes), the light in Caffrey's eyes was definitely worth going back on that.

"Have you found out anything more about Libby Drennan's baby?" she asked him, swinging round into his area, her heels clicking a little against the floor. He wouldn't have noticed that, normally -- hated the way he honed in on the sound, glanced down to see her wearing a skirt, her legs long and graceful. He almost wanted to fumble through a compliment.

But instead he fell back on the sarcastic tone.

"Of course. I mean, it's not like I have anything to do but sit around all day scanning Libby's baby for signs of infection over and over..."

She put up a hand and he trailed off. She smiled slightly and nodded. "Okay. I understand you're busy. Soon we'll get in some more people who can help you work. In the meantime..."

"I'll get to the scan later," he said, and tried not to think about how easily she'd quelled him.

She gave him a serious look and he met her eyes, feeling his stomach do some kind of weird, biologically impossible flip-flop. He took a deep breath, about to ask her, in that sarcastic tone that shielded him so well, what she was doing standing there, but she beat him to it, concern in her eyes, "Are you okay? Do you need a break -- someone to talk to?"

"No," he said, too quickly, and she nodded slowly.

"Okay then."

He realised something else, in that moment. She was the only one he _could_ talk to, anyway. For all that they disagreed on some matters, she probably understood him best. 


	2. Wet Pebbles

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this! I actually did all the updates on my LiveJournal account, but kept forgetting to do it here. Everything will get uploaded now. :)

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"Caffrey!"

He called her, and almost hoped she wouldn't turn, but she did, pausing in the center of the corridor, holding a bundle of files in her arms and looking every inch the business woman, the politician, the woman. There was something perfect about the way she held her head -- and he quickly reminded himself that her perfect posture was because of her wonderful bone structure, slim and strong, and that element of professionalism made it easier.

"Want to come out tonight?"

"Come out? Where?"

She was hesitating already, slipping away, and he was reminded of wet pebbles at the seaside. The harder you held on, the easier they slipped from your wet hands. "I don't know. For a drink? Or maybe a meal?"

"Anywhere in mind?" she asked, walking down the corridor towards him as he relaxed a little more. The tenser you were, the more serious, the more _Molly_ retreated and _Caffrey_, leader of Threshold, took over. He was careful to stay relaxed once he realised that.

"I was hoping you could think of somewhere."

She smiled a little, an easy smile, and shifted the folders in her arms. "Just give me a list of the places you've already been recently and I'll find a place that fits in with the protocols."

Of course, he thought, the _protocols_ and that damn methodical attitude of hers. Those damned things that would define and limit any romance between them. But he'd been expecting it and he held out his list, trying not to feel too pleased when her fingers brushed his as she took it.

"Is this a date, Fenway?" she asked, a little teasing, and he snorted softly.

He raised an eyebrow, flavouring his words with sarcasm and his ex-wives, "What do _you_ think?"

He sensed understanding in her smile as she drew away, though.

"It's a date, isn't it, Nigel?"

He couldn't understand why the mere use of his name made his mouth dry up. "Yeah. It's a date."

"I'll send you an email when I've figured out where we can go. See you there."

She left, her heels clicking all the way to the doors, and he listened, feeling hyper aware, and wondered what the hell he'd got himself into -- first Threshold, now another romance?


	3. Distractions

"How're things going, Nigel?"

He looked up, and there she was, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at him, wearing high heels and a skirt like she didn't realise how it effected him. He tried not to stare and instead looked down through the microscope at the slide. He tried not to feel a pleasant warmth at the realisation they were on first name terms now, even at work.

"Fine. Or as well as could be expected, anyway, since you haven't yet brought me more staff to work with."

There was no bite in the slight accusation and they both knew it.

"Is there anything I can help with?" she asked, moving towards him, and he stood up, taking a deep breath and putting some more space between them.

"No. You think I need crisis management in here, Molly? I need scientists."

She didn't back away. There was a laughing smile on her face as she put a hand against the desk, leaning. "Are you sure?"

He just shook his head, moving back to his work and trying hard to concentrate. Damn all young, pretty women to hell. They always managed to get in the way, he thought, sourly. He didn't even want to be there and this woman had got past his annoyance and right under his skin. He tried to ignore her, the sound of her voice passing over his head. He didn't hear the words, but he did listen, to the expressive voice that he'd grown to love.

"Nigel?"

He looked up at her. And then thought, to hell with this, just for a minute. He grabbed her, pulling her close, muffling her sudden protest with a kiss, his mouth eager as she responded, moving to press closer to him. He'd've called the kiss emotional, passionate, if he still believed in any of that romantic crap.

"Oh," she said, pulling back, and he expected her to walk out. She did hesitate, but then she moved to shut the door. She lifted her chin, crossing her arms in front of her like a challenge. "Okay."

He realised that he'd used the 'L-word' to himself when describing her voice, and hated himself for a moment, before he forgot it in the heat of the moment. 


	4. Love Is

It's difficult for him to drop his guard with anybody. Especially women. To a certain extent, in a working relationship, it could happen. But only as far as work went. In a romantic relationship (and he still cringed from those two words used together) it was necessary, perhaps, but it wasn't going to happen. After all, his life was the advertisement on how to get fucked over in several creative and interesting ways.

But it's different with Molly.

She's not so much a woman as a companion. A friend. And, until they're in bed together, she _could_ just be a friend. A good friend. A close friend. But still, a friend. The friends who haven't fucked him over are rare, too, but there are some.

It might help, he thinks, to think of her like that.

It isn't clingy. It's between moments romance, on evenings they can both spare, which become fewer and fewer as time goes on, but that doesn't change a thing. It's familiar, comfortable, and Nigel is glad of it.

One night, when they lay in bed together, he watches her sleep. Simply because he's awake and she is not. Her fingers are tangled with his and he feels an odd contentment. She trusts him, he knows it, and is proud? happy? pleased?

He's not sure what he is, but he likes it, anyway.

He squeezes her hand gently, drawing her a little closer, and reflects that even when things were good, he never embraced his wives in quite that way.

He talks to her, while she's asleep. He talks about his former wives, his dreams, the things that annoy him and, more quietly, the things that he likes, loves. She's asleep, but he wouldn't mind, even if she was awake.

Love, he said to her, softly, almost philosophically, is not caring whether you're awake or asleep. 


	5. Working Out Fine

"Fenway?"

He looked up to see Lucas standing there, giving him a very penetrating look, for all that Fenway's biggest impression of him was pale wishy-washiness. "Yes?" he asked, a little wary, hoping it was nothing to do with alien mutations or glass tree dreams.

"You and Caffrey, you're..."

Fenway stood up, crossing his arms in front of him. He wasn't sure what to say. He sure as hell wasn't going to say anything confirming or denying whatever Lucas thought was going on. At least not until he finished his sentence.

"You and Caffrey," Lucas said again, weakly.

"What about us?"

Fenway turned quickly and couldn't help a small smile at the sight of Molly, standing at the door with a pile of folders in her arms and a little smile on her face. She reached up and swept her hair out of her eyes as he watched her, and then he looked quickly back at Lucas.

Lucas floundered. Briefly. Then took a deep breath. "You're together, aren't you?"

Fenway snorted softly, glancing sideways and taking a little courage from Caffrey's blank expression. "What do _you_ really think, Lucas? I've been _married_ already. It just doesn't work out."

"Mine is working out fine," Lucas mumbled, and he didn't look convinced at all. Fenway had to agree. This one was working out fine for him, as well.

There was a quiet moment, and then the click of Molly's heels. She went to stand beside him, and Fenway fought the urge to wrap an arm around her, possessive. Fuck. He hated the feeling that, once again, he was vulnerable to a woman. In _love_ with a woman.

Women, as far as Fenway could ever tell, were all Furies in disguise.

"There doesn't seem much point in denying it," Molly said, softly. She smiled slightly at Lucas. "You're right, of course."

"Are you sure that... with everything..." he started, and then trailed off, smiling a little self-deprecatingly. "Never mind. You know what you're doing. And, after all, _I_ got _married_ with all this going on."

Molly smiled a little more, leaning up to kiss Fenway's cheek lightly, startling him.

"I'll see you later," she said, and then she left the lab. 


End file.
